- Lewis Caroll
- Come to my arms, my beamish boy! / He chortled in his joy
- E.E. Cummings
- i carry your heart with me(i carry it in / my heart)i am never without it(anywhere / i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done / by only me is your doing,my darling) / i fear / no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want / no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) / and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant / and whatever a sun will always sing is you
- T.S. Eliot
- Let us go then, you and I / When the stars are spread out against the sky / Like a patient etherized upon a table...
- Charles Bukowski
- “Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead.”
- Archibald Macleish
- And there, there overhead, there, there hung over / Those thousands of white faces, those dazed eyes, / There in the starless dark, the poise, the hover, / There with vast wings across the cancelled skies, / There in the sudden blackness the black pall / Of nothing, nothing, nothing -- nothing at all.
- W.B. Yeats
- But I being poor have only my dreams / I spread them under your feet / Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams.
- Wallace Stevens
- Among twenty snowy mountains, / The only moving thing / Was the eye of the blackbird.
- Pablo Neruda
- To bread I do not ask to teach me / but only not to lack during every day of life. / I don’t know anything about light, from where / it comes nor where it goes, / I only want the light to light up, / I do not ask to the night / explanations, / I wait for it and it envelops me, / And so you, bread and light / And shadow are.
- Emily Dickinson
- Parting is all we know of heaven, / And all we need of hell.
- Rainer Maria Rilke
- She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen / into her, so that, like an audience, / she can look them over, menacing and sullen, / and curl to sleep with them. But all at once / as if awakened, she turns her face to yours; / and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny, / inside the golden amber of her eyeballs / suspended, like a prehistoric fly.
- John Keats
- The selfsame song that hath charmed magick casements / opening on the foam / of perilous seas / in faerie lands forlorn
- Matsuo Basho
- Wake, butterfly. / It's late / We've miles to go together.
- Bob Dylan
- A worried man with a worried mind / no one in front of me and nothing behind / there's a woman on my lap and she's / drinking champagne. / That white skin, those assassin's eyes / I'm looking up into the sapphire evening sky and wonderin' / waiting on the last train. / Some things are just too hot to touch; / a human mind can only stand so much...
- Thom Yorke
- Wake from your sleep / And dry all your tears / Today / We escape, we escape... / Sing / Us a song / A song to keep us warm / There's such a chill / Such a chill...
- Isaac Brock
- Everyone's a building burning / With no one to put the fire out / Standing at the window looking out / Waiting for time to burn us down.
- Manus Lunny & Andy M. Stuart
- Late in the evening when the gloaming comes down / it's deep in the country I'll be / when all the wild creatures are seeking their beds / it's then, late at night, I'll roam free. / Where the wild salmon springs / through a peat water rings / and the thrush & the blackbird / ring a jig from each tree / some contentment I'll find / with the town far behind / for my heart it belongs to she.
- Czeslaw Milosz
- Love means to learn to look at yourself / The way one looks at distant things / For you are only one thing among many. / And whoever sees that way heals his heart, / Without knowing it, from various ills— / A bird and a tree say to him: Friend. / Then he wants to use himself and things / So that they stand in the glow of ripeness. / It doesn’t matter whether he knows what he serves: / Who serves best doesn’t always understand. *Edna Milay
- What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, / I have forgotten, and what arms have lain / Under my head till morning; but the rain / Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh / Upon the glass and listen for reply, / And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain / For unremembered lads that not again / Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. / Thus in winter stands the lonely tree, / Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, / Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: / I cannot say what loves have come and gone, / I only know that summer sang in me / A little while, that in me sings no more.
apr 9 2011 ∞
oct 8 2012 +